Conversations with Leroy

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but what happens at Burning Man can alter the course of your life.  The 2010 burn was a difficult one, leading as it did to a long series of damning self-realizations.

Here, in no particular order, and with a suspicious lack of specificity, are a few lessons Leroy* (a.k.a. "The Man") tried to impart last week.

Burning Man is just a place:  I've always treated Burning Man as a sort of spiritual journey, and been annoyed that so few seemed to share that sentiment.  But this year's theme -- "Metropolis" -- drove the point home.  Black Rock City is just that: a city.  Cities are for people, not purposes, and single-purpose cities are stale and fragile things.

The purpose of a city is the converging purposes of its inhabitants.  It was childish of me to desire to control the hearts and hopes of others.  Fortunately, Black Rock City is a very open place, and you can make room for nearly any purpose within it.

I am the plaything of a cold and indifferent universe, and it's time to act like it:  After I left the Church, I purported to have set aside all things mystical in favor of an essentially rationalist, materialistic view of the Universe.  And yet, when it came to the conduct of my everyday life, I've always behaved as though the Universe and I had some sort of grand bargain.  If I would live a moral, compassionate life, the Universe would reward me with the things I wanted out of life: good health, good friends, a beautiful and loving companion, and success and prestige in my career.

Strategy, planning, goals, and risk had no part in that bargain.  Subconsciously, I seemed to believe that when I had "earned" the rewards, they would appear.

Though the contract was imaginary, the results weren't entirely disastrous.  I've got a far better life than I deserve, in a world that has given so many so little.  But there are holes in my life, and rather than trying to fill them through nebulous, poorly planned acts of (self-)righteousness, I intend to grab a shovel. 

I am deeply jealous of the happiness that other people find in their lives:  This idea is related to the preceding one.  When I've seen people happy, when I've seen them getting something that I wish I had, it felt like the Universe was weighing me in the balance and finding me wanting.  In fact, the joys and struggles of life are distributed unevenly and capriciously.  But the most valuable things in life rarely go to people who stubbornly refuse to ask for them, as I've always done.

Jealousy is an ugly emotion, and one I wish to rid myself of entirely.  It especially troubles me that it damages my affection for the people I care about.  It's unworthy of the person I would like to be, the one I want to strive harder to become.

Being miserable about the fate of the world doesn't alter the fate of the world:  I've always believed that there is something perverse about being well adapted to a sick and troubled world.  I still do.  But you can see the beauty in the world without hiding from its ugliness, and the best way to tackle our problems is with a spirit of hope and optimism, not crippling fear.



The people I've noticed making a positive impact seem to have an inspiring and infectious enthusiasm for their mission.  I want to learn to do that.

This will be a difficult lesson.  It may take a lifetime to learn.

The people in my life warrant more trust than I've given them:  Deep down, I have this fear.  I believe that the people I love will not accept the real me.  If I tell them what is really going on in my head, they'll leave me.  The carefully constructed facade might be worthy of love, if it weren't held together with bailing wire and duct tape.

But this week, the facade cracked just enough that I knew everyone could see inside.  How did they react?  Not with horror.  Not even with surprise.  More of an, "eh, that's how he gets sometimes," followed by warm descriptions of what lay underneath.  I learned from this that I'm a horrible liar, and that I'm loved for myself.  This hasn't fully sunk in yet.

I need to be more of a jerk:  My facade says that I'm an inoffensive person.  I go along, I don't pick fights, I help others without thought for myself, and I don't impose.  The people around me don't actually believe any of this, but in order to function, I had to believe that they believed it.

Now that I know better, I can give myself permission to impose on others.  Nobody will be damaged if I decide to drop by unannounced, or if I ask a girl to dance**, or if I say that something is bothering me.  If anything it will be better than keeping things in my head and making people wonder what is wrong.  I can treat people with compassion and kindness without assuming that they're fragile and helpless.

So let me impose upon you now:  if you've read this far, it's probably because you're someone close to me.  Help me to fully embrace these lessons.

* What? You have a better name for him?

** The asking won't harm, but what comes after will leave bruises on feet.